


Two Bros, Sitting in a Recovery Pod...

by sir_coriander_cadaverish



Series: Blizzard Boys [1]
Category: Nimona (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, Injury Recovery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:42:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23551006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sir_coriander_cadaverish/pseuds/sir_coriander_cadaverish
Summary: So basically I saw a prompt that was like "Imagine if Person 1 is injured and Person 2 tends to their injuries ~uwu~" and I was like "heh... heh heh..."
Relationships: Ballister Blackheart/Ambrosius Goldenloin
Series: Blizzard Boys [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695010
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Two Bros, Sitting in a Recovery Pod...

When Ballister awoke on the cool and mysteriously smooth floor, the first thing he saw was hazy darkness. Then, the first thing he felt was an ice-cold wet cloth being pressed against his bare chest. "Aagh!" he cried out in confusion and pain, sucking in a breath of stale air and trying to sit up. Ambrosius yanked the offending cloth back and held him down with one hand. _"Shhh!"_ Ballister struggled against his hand for a moment, before groggily realizing that Ambrosius was the only one there with him in the darkened chamber. His curiosity forced him to still. "The hell are you doing?!" he hissed.

Ambrosius heaved a sigh, turning for a moment to adjust a panel on the wall. The lights adjusted to full brightness. Ballister squinted. "You got stabbed, dude," Ambrosius said matter-of-factly. "During battle. I requested a recovery pod from the Institution and ordered my men to head back, since I'm the only one certified to do this kind of first aid. Institution doesn't know that _you're_ the one who got hurt."

Ballister's brows furrowed; he could feel a migraine approaching. "Wait a second," he said, still catching up in the foggy haze of his mind, "I got stabbed?" Ambrosius turned back to face him and nodded, mildly amused. "Yeah, one of my guys gave you a nasty gash right here." He lightly touched the spot; Ballister winced. " _Aah_ , don't-" "Sorry," Ambrosius muttered.

"Also," he added, leaning back against the metal wall, "I'm pretty sure you have some sort of concussion. You took a pretty bad fall off one of your dragons," he said, chuckling, "Guess that wasn't really your best fight, huh?" Ballister ignored this comment - he seemed to remember something urgent, and tried to sit up again. "Will you stop _doing_ that?!" Ambrosius chastised, pinning him down by the shoulders. "But my dragons," Ballister muttered, speaking in low tones to keep from provoking his headache any further, "Where did they...?" Ambrosius smiled faintly, releasing him. "They took off on their own. Seemed to know where they were going." Ballister relaxed a bit, taking a moment to appreciate the benefits of his high-quality dragon training. He was just about to doze off again when he jolted awake once more.

"Hold on," he grunted with difficulty. "Is the Institution tracking you right now?" There was an intense look in his eyes. Ambrosius bit his lip. "Uh," he faltered, "Well, yes. They are." Immediately, Ballister forced himself to his feet before Ambrosius could stop him, and strode hastily (if not a bit shakily) across the room. "Hey, wait! They have to track Institution faculty at all times, Ballister, it's just a formality! They hardly ever check-" Despite Ambrosius' protests, Ballister unbolted the door, let it swing open, and only hesitated when frigid, blustery wind hit him directly in the face. _Oh, shit,_ he thought to himself. _Since when was it snowing?_ "Ballister, you _cannot_ leave right now," Ambrosius repeated, this time with an edge of warning in his voice. Ballister glared at him over his shoulder. "And why not?" he challenged him, feeling just a bit ridiculous as tiny snowflakes dissolved on his bare arms.

Ambrosius huffed an impatient sigh and leaned back against the wall. "Because if you go out there now, you'll die of hypothermia. Or blood loss, considering that you have an inch-deep cut in your chest that you won't let me fix. Plus, as much as I hate how this sounds, the Institution tracks _your_ activity, too, and from all the empty reports I keep getting, it's pretty clear that you have nothing better to do at the moment. So please," he said finally, "Sit down." That seemed to have settled it. With a heavy and reluctant sigh, Ballister shut the door. He slowly walked back to the main section of the pod. "Plus, you forgot your shirt," Ambrosius added, holding up Ballister's torn grey shirt with a little grin. Ballister set his jaw and silently took the shirt. He sunk down against the wall opposite Ambrosius. "How long do I have to be in here?"

"Just a few days, give or take," replied Ambrosius, "Until I think you've properly recovered. Or when that blizzard dies down - whichever comes first." Ballister sighed again and remained sulkily quiet.

A beat.

After a moment, Ambrosius remarked, "Dammit, you're bleeding again." Startled, Ballister glanced down and realized that his stab wound had, in fact, begun to bleed again. "C'mere, I have to put the compress on it," Ambrosius urged. Ballister shook his head in refusal and said, "No, let me see it. I can do it myself." Equal parts frustrated and amused, Ambrosius handed him the compress and gazed on as Ballister pressed it against the side of his chest. _You stubborn thing,_ he thought ruefully. It was a slightly awkward ordeal, but in the end, Ballister was successful in staunching the blood. He re-bandaged himself and pulled his thin shirt back over his head with a tiny, self-satisfied toss of his hair. 

As time passed, Ballister was finding it a bit harder to resist Ambrosius' relentless insistence on helping him with his injuries. Outside of this, his headache was fading, much to his relief. And his stab wound had evaded infection, thankfully, but it still required to be regularly cleaned - a task that was a thousand times more difficult to do by oneself. Finally, by evening, he gave in.

"For god's sake, Ballister, just lie down here and I'll do it for you!" Ambrosius had cried for the umpteenth time, totally exasperated. He was taken entirely off-guard when Ballister simply took another deep and sulky breath, shook his head in disappointment with himself, and begrudgingly leaned back, elbows propped against the cool floor. "Fine, then," he muttered while handing Ambrosius the cloth, "Do it." Ambrosius gazed at him in disbelief for a brief moment before breaking into a triumphant smile. " _Thank_ you."

He dipped the cloth in water and gently dabbed at the cut. Ballister's eyes shot open. "God, that's cold," he whispered, trying not to writhe too much. "Shhh," Ambrosius shushed him, "The colder, the better."

It went on like this for about ten minutes, and the process was mostly uneventful (except for one moment as Ambrosius gingerly wiped dried blood from Ballister's side when Ballister suddenly twitched and groaned, "Nghh." Ambrosius murmured, "What is it now?" and Ballister grunted, "That tickles," to which Ambrosius replied coolly, "That's too bad, princess" and carried on).

Eventually, it occurred to the men that they would, at some point, need to eat. So, after being convinced that Ballister was well taken care of, Ambrosius mounted his chestnut steed and galloped off into the nearby village with a pouch of Institution-issued coins. About an hour later, he returned with a basket full of apples and a loaf of warm bread wrapped in brown paper. "Goodness, I didn't realize I was rooming with Little Red Riding Hood," Ballister mused. "Oh, hush," Ambrosius said, taking off his embroidered coat, "It's the best I could find in that rickety old... hamlet. They haven't got anything we city folk are used to." Ballister smiled to himself when Ambrosius' back was turned. Then Ambrosius whirled around and tossed Ballister an apple before sitting down on the floor beside him. Ballister was about to slide away when Ambrosius said softly, "Aw, c'mon. Don't be like that." For some reason, this worked; Ballister relaxed a bit and allowed his shoulder to touch Ambrosius'. They sat and ate in silence. Ballister occasionally felt a pang from his wound, but he found that when he didn't move, and Ambrosius continued to press against his side, it reduced the pain tenfold. He didn't tell Ambrosius this, of course, so after a few minutes, Ambrosius shifted away to give him space.

In a sudden burst of impulse, Ballister cleared his throat. "You, uh... You don't have to move, y'know. If you don't... want to." Ambrosius glanced at him, surprised. "For real?" Ballister swallowed his apple - and his pride with it - and he nodded. "Yeah. It, uh." He hesitated. "It eases the pain... on my shoulder." He gestured at his arm. He could feel his face growing hot. Thankfully, Ambrosius immediately understood. With a smile of contentment, he resumed his previous position, snuggled against Ballister. For a moment, they were both silent and reflective. This all seemed so oddly familiar... and both men quickly realized why.

"Ballister... How did we end up like this?" Ambrosius finally asked in a soft voice.

Ballister felt a sharp pang, one that wasn't from his wound. "Let's not talk about it."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress, so apologies if it's a little janky. Also, this doesn't exactly align with the canon, but I like to imagine that it happened sometime during Ballister's villain stint, before Nimona came around.  
> Heck, I might even make this a series. I mean, come on: two lovers-turned-sworn-enemies sharing a bunker during a blizzard? Hell yeah.


End file.
